Through the Grapevine
by Never Stray
Summary: Because the truth was, he was afraid. Because sometimes, she looked so fucking gorgeous that he would forget who she was, and who he was, and all the reasons he couldn't have her. Dramione, minor BlaiseHermione.


**Through the Grapevine**

The Great Hall was absolutely gorgeous, done up in full winter decor. The four dining tables had been taken away, and the staff table was replaced by a stage on which a band was currently setting up. It reminded Hermione of the Yule Ball, except with a less formal atmosphere.

Students were milling into the hall, in pairs and in groups. It was a cheerful occasion, although it was to be her last winter here at Hogwarts.

Now where were Ron and Harry? Knowing them, eating. Hermione made a beeline for the punch table.

… which was surprisingly empty. A loud burst of music, followed by a hoard of screaming teenagers, heading for the dance floor, startled her. When the dust settled, there was only one bloke by the punch table, and he was neither Ron nor Harry.

Hermione had never really noticed him before, but she knew he was a Slytherin. He was in a few of her classes, and kept quiet mostly. Had he been part of the Slug Club…? From rumours, she knew his mother was a beautiful witch whose husbands kept dying and mysteriously leaving great sums of gold behind.

If nothing else, Hermione could believe the part about his mother. Blaise Zabini was definitely attractive, with curling black hair and smooth olive skin. He had a straight nose, and was built like a Chaser, sleekly muscular. She was wearing heels, but she judged he was still a good head taller than her.

He must have felt her gaze because he turned. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue. "Granger," he acknowledged, giving her a discreet once over.

"Zabini," she greeted, cautiously, falling quiet when he made no move to continue conversation.

Cue awkward silence. It was to be expected, she supposed. The two of them were leaning against the table, lone islands of stillness in a sea of grinding teens. The beat was obnoxiously loud, but Hermione liked it. Upbeat, feel-good songs were the best.

Zabini remained silent, observing the walls and looking like he would pay not to be there.

The atmosphere became unbearable. She blurted out, "I-"

Zabini looked at her, eyebrow raised. It wasn't every day that a Gryffindor amiably struck up conversation with a Slytherin.

"Er, wanna dance?"

He looked confused. Before he could recover, a giggling witch, wrapped in a tight, rose-colored halter dress stumbled over and greeted him by means of her hand on his arm. She looked over her shoulder at three similarly dressed witches, who flapped their hands at her and giggled.

Hermione was impressed. How many witches had the courage to approach a clearly pissed-off Slytherin boy, asking to dance while wearing four inch stilettos?

Zabini scowled, "No, thanks," he said with clear disdain. Hermione remembered Pansy Parkinson mentioning that he was hard to please. The other girl pouted, but moved off with a gaggle of giggling girlfriends, rejected. Hermione noted that the girls' ankles were shaking. She estimated they would give out before midnight.

No sooner had this witch walked off that another one came up to Zabini.

"Hey cutie, dance with me," the blonde, whom Hermione vaguely recognized as a Slytherin girl in her year, demanded. Her name was something-grass. Or was it glass? She radiated confidence though, and looked like she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Zabini narrowed his eyes. "Go away," he told her.

Glass rolled her eyes at him. "Shut up and dance, Zabini." With that, she dragged him off into the throng of people. Zabini looked pissed enough to hex her, Hermione noted with amusement. They were halfway to the dance floor when Zabini looked up and met Hermione's eyes. She tried not to crack up. He managed to look pissed and miserable at the same time, with some disgust in. About as much emotion as he'd ever shown.

Glass had reached a spot on the dance floor. She pressed her back into Zabini's front, and forced his hands on her hips. Then, to Hermione's astonishment and Zabini's horror, Glass put her hands on her knees and grounded her arse like no tomorrow into his pelvis.

Hermione was going to die. Glass was bent over and "getting low" as the lyrics suggested, a move that altogether looked like she was attempting defecation on his shoe. Zabini looked like he was a fire hydrant being marked by a stray dog. He looked up and met Hermione's eyes with a long-suffered look. She laughed, unable to hold it in. His hands were still around Glass' hips, trapped.

Well, Hermione to the rescue then. Even though she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. She cautiously avoided the dangerous heels of witches, jumping up and down, while moving towards Zabini. The closer she got, the more annoyed he looked. "Hurry up", he mouthed at her.

Hermione grinned and walked over casually, trying to sway with the beat. The minute she was within arm's reach, she felt Zabini grab her and pull himself flush against her. Glass straightened up, and eyed Hermione with pure hatred. She felt Zabini determinedly looking away.

She realized that Zabini had his hands on her hips, and was moving against her back. She flushed. Wow, way too close.

"Dance," he hissed into her hair. Hermione was slightly indignant that he was commanding her, when she realized that the Glass was still there, dancing with another girl, sending periodic glares of varying viciousness.

"I think she's going to hex me," Hermione told him. The song changed and the beat sped up. Fortunately, she danced during the summer to keep in shape, so she wasn't a complete klutz. Hermione had absolutely no clue how one was supposed to grind, though, so she settled for moving her hips in figure eights.

"Scared?" he asked, guiding her hips. He rocked against her. It wasn't so bad, Hermione thought, if a little too intimate. He leaned down to talk in her ear, over the loud music.

"Not in my vocabulary," she informed him. Feeling awkward with her hands limp, she put them on his hands, over her hips. It was an intimate dance, and she wasn't sure how close he wanted to get.

Sensing her hesitation, he offered, "One hand behind my neck." Hermione reached up to hook her fingers gently there. His hair was soft, she thought jealously. Smooth, curly hair perfectly wasted on a boy. Her left hand remained on his on her hip.

Zabini tugged that arm around his waist, and so the back of her left hand pressed into his lower back. His hand went back to her waist, his hips lazily moving against hers.

"You… uh… dance well," Hermione told him, unable to think of what else to say. It was true though. He moved exactly with the rhythm, fluidly and purposefully.

"I hate it," he told her. She twisted slightly to see his expression. He was looking faintly annoyed, but he kept moving. "Witches won't leave me alone."

Hermione grinned and leaned cautiously against his chest. "Most guys would be pleased."

He didn't reply, though she thought she felt him shrug. The song ended and Hermione tried to step away. Strong, tanned arms wrapped themselves around her waist though, stilling her motion. "Stay. I think my wand might slip on the next idiot girl who touches me."

He sounded so abused, she had to laugh. "Alright, but you owe me." She pulled her dress down from where it had ridden up, blushing. He pressed into her again. It was during this lapse in movement that she saw Malfoy at the table, holding a drink and looking annoyed. His date had looped her arm through his, trying to get his attention.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. That bastard. She couldn't believe how rude he was to her earlier that evening. She locked gazes with Malfoy, challengingly.

Grey eyes looked her up and down. The Head Boy'd only ever seen her in school uniform, never in a dress, and certainly not in this pretty number that her parents had bought her for her birthday in London. While Hermione never vied for attention, she couldn't deny the satisfaction she drew from watching his eyes widen as they made their descent from her face to waist, halting momentarily at an offending appendage wrapped there. Then Malfoy saw Zabini behind her, and his eyes narrowed with fury. Malfoy looked like he wanted to murder Zabini. Or her. Hermione wasn't sure. His knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip on his drink.

Hermione rolled her eyes. What was his problem? He made it quite clear that he considered her less than human just a few hours ago. Unworthy to attend the Holiday Ball, her dress-clad arse. Hermione sent a poisonous glare his way, and Zabini lowered his head to her ear.

"Something going on with you and Malfoy?" he asked. So he had noticed too. Not that the blond boy was subtle. His megawatt glare could be felt from across the room. She scoffed. Let him glare.

"I think he's angry that I'm dancing with you," she told him. "Annoying ferret probably doesn't want me soiling his precious Slytherin Purebloods," she muttered. The last bit she punctuated with an exaggerated posh accent.

Zabini chuckled into her hair. "I doubt it. He hasn't said more than two words to me, ever."

"Good for you. The only words out of his mouth are insults."

"Maybe he fancies you."

"Maybe the moon's made of cheese."

Zabini looked confused. "What?"

Hermione flushed. "Muggle expression."

A pause ensued. Suddenly, an idea lit his eyes. "Why don't you put on a show, Granger?" he asked, hands splayed over her stomach. "Exaggerate."

"What?" she asked.

Zabini smirked against her neck. "He obviously doesn't want me touching you. What if I…" His hand left her hip to slide gently up the curve of her breast, to her shoulder, and then back down. Hermione jumped. Malfoy looked livid.

"Wait, that's not appropriate," Hermione said, blushing furiously. But she didn't stop him, a fact he took in with a hidden glee.

"I owe you one, right?" he whispered. Hermione wondered at Zabini's turn of character. He seemed to enjoy Malfoy's displeasure immensely.

Hermione hesitated, but consented. Anything to piss Malfoy off, right? The next song was another dance track, but it had a slow and sensual beat. She arched her back and hooked both hands behind Zabini's neck. He ran hands down her body and she tilted her head back. Her eyes were closed and she grinded purposefully against him, as opposed to before when they maintained minimal contact. Experimenting, she rolled her hips into his.

Zabini let out a sudden, shuddering breath and his fingers clenched into her skin. "Don't do that," he said roughly. Confused, she shifted forward, although his dominating grip ensured she wouldn't stray too far.

Zabini dropped his head into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, inhaling slightly. She wasn't sure if she was comfortable with that, but Hermione forced herself on. Malfoy had better be watching.

* * *

><p>Zabini looked fucking intoxicated. He had his nose planted firmly in Granger's hair, <em>breathing her in<em>, and that _stupid_ girl wasn't doing anything about it, just smiling and dancing. She almost looked as if she was enj-

Draco furiously ended the thought and all its unpleasant implications. Tonight was turning out to be one of the worst of his life. His date sucked, his glass was empty, and his mind refused to focus on anywhere but on the spot across the room where Blaise Zabini was currently molesting Hermione Granger.

Draco seethed. What right did she have to walk in dressed like _that_? It was like the Yule Ball, all over again. Her, dressed up and attracting the attention of every male in the vicinity. Draco threw out the Bulgarian National banner he had in his room after that night. And over the last three years, it had only gotten worse, this _thing_ he had with her.

In class, Draco would find that his eyes travelled, invariably, to her, regardless of how purposefully he ripped them away, whenever he caught himself. And then there were those urges. He wanted to talk to her, to touch her, to have her think of him and him only. He would forcefully bump into her shoulder in the hallways, sometimes making her to spill all her books and sometimes forcing her into the wall, just to feel her. He taunted her mercilessly, with insults far nastier than anything he'd dared in his youth.

Because the truth was, he was afraid. Because sometimes, she looked so fucking gorgeous that he would forget who he was and who she was and all the reasons he couldn't have her. He needed reminders.

So when he saw her walking from Potions class that afternoon, he reminded himself. Maybe he did get a bit rough, and maybe he went particularly far with his words. Draco didn't know. But instead of brightening with anger and hate, like they usually did, Granger's eyes glistened with the first hint of moisture. She'd looked upwards, blinking rapidly, trying to hold back, and breathed shakily with an awful, fake attempt at a nonchalant smile.

Panic overcame Draco. He froze. He didn't understand, he was giving her the same treatment as usual. Nevertheless, his chest grew painfully tight. Breathing was hard. So much pressure.

The image of that first tear sliding down her smooth cheek burned itself into his mind and stayed there, long after he left her crying in the hallways.

But it looked like she'd recovered just fine now. She was all slow swaying and seductive smiles with Zabini, who was eagerly basking in her affection like a deprived dog.

"Hey, lets go dance." Pansy made a final attempt at gripping his arm, but Draco wasn't interested. The last thing he wanted was to get _closer_ to those two, to get a better view of- just where the _fuck_ did Zabini think he was touching her?

All thoughts of not interfering fled. His brain was focused on one thing only, and that was Zabini and the number of ways Draco was going to break his hand.

He stormed toward the two. At the sight of him, Granger untangled herself from Zabini, but was hindered by his arm wrapped around her waist. Draco had never wanted to punch someone so badly in his life.

"Malfoy," Zabini greeted icily.

"Zabini," he bit out. Deep breaths.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked irritably, eyes flashing.

His eyes narrowed, but his heart pounded away under her scrutiny. "Just wanted you to stop letting him dry hump you. It's rather disgusting. "

"Oh sod off, we were dancing."

"His hands were all over you," Draco grit out, refusing to acknowledge the asshole behind her. "Have some dignity."

"Have some _dignity_-" she scoffed. "Oh that's rich, coming from the git who leaves girls crying in the hall. Blaise wasn't doing anything I didn't want him to."

Blaise.

_Blaise. _

A torrent of emotion hit him, and the tightness in his chest returned. Guilt, shame, confusion, fear, and insecurity shot his nerves, and overridding it all was the insane urge to prove to the Italian asshole that he was capable of taking care of Granger and making her happy. But mostly, Draco was angry. He hated the way that fucker's name slid off her tongue.

Zabini was smirking oily now. "I think _Hermione_'s made it clear that you should leave."

"I think you need to shut the fuck up," Draco growled.

Granger widened her eyes exasperatedly, finally pushing Zabini's arm off of her, to Draco's immense pleasure. "What is wrong with you?"

Ignoring her, Draco asked vehemently, "Why dance? Why with _him_?" Why was Zabini so special?

"None of your-"

"Why?" Draco demanded, towering over her.

Granger rolled her eyes. "Because he was being hit on by a ton of girls, and I wanted to save him the effort!"

"By grinding on him? Is that what you call-"

"Ughh, why am I even answering you! Fine, I might have played it up a bit at the end to piss you off. Happy?"

Draco was stunned. "...what?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You know, you've always been an arse, but these last few weeks you've been acting bloody psychotic. Shoving me into walls and things like that. I saw how pissed off you were when you saw me dancing with Blaise-" Draco cringed. "-and corrupting him with my Muggleness, which by the way is not even a legitimate condition. So when he asked if I wanted to exaggerate a bit, to agitate you, I agreed."

Draco couldn't believe she was so stupid. "Zabini only offered because he wants to fuck you." Ignoring her indignant objections, and spurned by Zabini's lack of denial, he finished, "And this isn't about you being muggleborn at all."

Granger looked stunned for a second. "But I... why else would you be mad at me?" She looked at him, so confusedly but so honestly, and Draco's mouth went dry. What could he say? That she was the first thing he thought of when he woke up, and the last thing he thought of going to sleep? That he was only acting angry because there was absolutely no way for him to express the deep, gut-wrenching pain he felt watching her and Zabini? That he desperately wished it was _his_ arms wrapped around her waist and _his_ chest she rested her head on? He'd only sound like an obsessive creep. Maybe he was obsessed. He'd certainly never felt this way before. A long pause ensued.

_"_I knew it," Zabini stated triumphantly. "You want her."

Draco's heart pounded. "Go to hell," he said, a little too quickly.

_"_No..." Zabini said, comprehension and awe dawning on his features. "You _love _her_."_

The heavy silence that ensued between the three of them answered the unspoken question. All around, the bass pounded away and teenagers continued to jump. Draco took nothing in but Granger's eyes, trained on him. Desperately, he looked for signs of rejection, of hatred, any of which would kill him, but all he found was uncertainty.

"Malfoy... Draco," she said slowly- looking him in the eyes. "Is this true?"

"I don't know," he answered quietly. But the ridiculous burst of joy that erupted in his chest at the sound of his first name falling off her tongue told him all too clearly the answer. Everything was over.

"I knew there was something going on," Zabini smirked. "But this is so much more than what I expected to find out."

Hermione shot him a confused look. "Wait... 'find out'?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Potter and Weasley both just mysteriously disappear for the biggest formal event of the semester? I just happened to be the only bloke by the punch table? We happen to dance in a spot perfectly visible from where Malfoy is standing? Come on, love."

"But- " Hermione started. Zabini just laughed, and whispered something in her ear. Then, before Draco could lunge for his throat, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, and vanished into the crowd.

Draco stared at her with hard eyes. "What did he say?"

Hermione blinked. "He said that he's looking forward to our next dance together."

"Fat chance. He's never dancing with you again," Draco growled. Ever.

"I don't think that's your decision to make," she said hotly.

"It is," he said.

"Why?" she shot back.

"Because-" The words lodged in his throat. He couldn't say it. The song changed and a familiar intro of beats began to play. Cheers of "I love this song!" rang out all across the Hall as students, lounging in chairs, streamed in crowds towards the floor for the final dance of the night.

Hermione sighed, and for the first time in seven years, flashed him a genuine smile that left his knees weak. "Forget it," she said. "Let's just dance."

And Draco was more than happy to oblige.

End.


End file.
